<h2><SPAN name="page46"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>A LAY OF THE LINKS</h2>
<p class="poetry">It’s up and away from our work to-day,<br/>
For the breeze sweeps over the down;<br/>
And it’s hey for a game where the gorse blossoms flame,<br/>
And the bracken is bronzing to brown.<br/>
With the turf ’neath our tread and the blue overhead,<br/>
And the song of the lark in the whin;<br/>
There’s the flag and the green, with the bunkers
between—<br/>
Now will you be over or in?</p>
<p class="poetry">The doctor may come, and we’ll teach him
to know<br/>
A tee where no tannin can lurk;<br/>
<SPAN name="page47"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>The
soldier may come, and we’ll promise to show<br/>
Some hazards a soldier may shirk;<br/>
The statesman may joke, as he tops every stroke,<br/>
That at last he is high in his aims;<br/>
And the clubman will stand with a club in his hand<br/>
That is worth every club in St. James’.</p>
<p class="poetry">The palm and the leather come rarely
together,<br/>
Gripping the driver’s haft,<br/>
And it’s good to feel the jar of the steel<br/>
And the spring of the hickory shaft.<br/>
Why trouble or seek for the praise of a clique?<br/>
A cleek here is common to all;<br/>
And the lie that might sting is a very small thing<br/>
When compared with the lie of the ball.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page48"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
48</span>Come youth and come age, from the study or stage,<br/>
From Bar or from Bench—high and low!<br/>
A green you must use as a cure for the blues—<br/>
You drive them away as you go.<br/>
We’re outward bound on a long, long round,<br/>
And it’s time to be up and away:<br/>
If worry and sorrow come back with the morrow,<br/>
At least we’ll be happy to-day.</p>
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